


Catch and Release

by DeHeerKonijn, Roselightfairy



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battlefield, Crack, Creative projectiles, Fishing, Gen, Humor, Mirkwood apologism, Snooty Lothlorien Elves, no fish were harmed in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25414762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeHeerKonijn/pseuds/DeHeerKonijn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roselightfairy/pseuds/Roselightfairy
Summary: An afternoon of fishing - and being subsequently baited by some haughty elves from Lothlórien - leads Legolas to discover an unorthodox new weapon.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 90





	Catch and Release

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted in four parts on Tumblr, but we decided to move it over here for the sake of archiving - and making sure the people who see it are able to see all parts!

“I tell you,” Merry insisted, “I grew up on the Brandywine. If anyone ought to know the best way to fish” –

“But the Brandywine is a river, begging your pardon,” Sam objected. “Poles might be best for boats and fast-moving water, but when your stream’s naught more than a trickle” –

“Well, and which is this?” Pippin gestured down at the creek where they stood, decidedly larger than a mere trickle but still shallow enough to suit Sam’s standards for wetting his feet. "Frodo – you’re well acquainted with both. Would you say this is closer to a river or a stream?“

Frodo blinked out of his wandering thoughts. Typical of Pippin to call him in to settle a dispute when he would just as soon observe. "Why don’t we try both methods and see what works best?”

“Methods of what?”

They all started and whipped around to stare at their new companion, who stood distressingly close behind them for someone who had given no sign of his approach. It was only to be expected from an elf, Frodo supposed, but it seemed Legolas made even less noise here in a forest than he had in the open air.

“Ah, Legolas!” Pippin beamed. Frodo relaxed back into his seat on the bank, glad of a new target to be used as a mediator. "Sam and Merry were just having a discussion over the best way to catch fish.“

“Oh?” Legolas dropped to a crouch beside Frodo – perhaps in an effort to bring himself closer to their heights, or perhaps merely to give the creek a closer inspection. “What were the methods in question?”

He looked at Sam, but Sam shrank back as though to hide behind Frodo. Frodo could not help smiling fondly; Sam had come to know Legolas better after their weeks of travel, but he was still shy of him sometimes – especially here, in a forest filled with elves.

Merry spoke up instead. "Where I come from on the river Brandywine, we are accustomed to using long poles with string and hooks attached,“ he explained. "But Sam here thinks the best way is to set snares or use nets and sharpened sticks.”

“Very interesting.” Legolas shifted into a kneeling position at the edge of the creek. "I daresay both methods have their own advantages. For myself, I favor a different method.“

Sam cast Frodo a pleading look, and Frodo took pity on him and asked. “What would that be?”

Legolas darted a glance up from where he was keeping careful watch on the stream. "Would you see it?“

They all nodded eagerly and fell silent, waiting – but Legolas said no more. He merely turned back to the water and resumed his careful observation.

For long moments, no one spoke. Pippin began to shift uneasily, as though to ask a question, but Merry put a hand on his shoulder to keep him quiet. Frodo peered over the edge, straining his eyes to see what Legolas was looking for, but could only detect the slightest hint of movement beneath the current – perhaps a faint shadow – of –

The motion was over in an instant. Legolas’s arm flashed into the water, but barely had they heard the splash of its entry when it had withdrawn again faster than an arrow-shot, his hand wrapped around a wriggling fish.

“Oh!” As one, his four spectators let out an impressed breath.

Legolas straightened and smiled at them, holding up his prize. “Let it not be said that an elf traveled so far and so long with four hobbits and did not become familiar with their ways. Surely you four have begun to hunger for a midday meal?”

At their clamors of enthusiasm, he bent to dash the fish against a rock: a quick, clean kill nearly as impressive as the swiftness of his catch – but before he could even straighten up again, the smile was gone from his face, hardened into a flat line. His head tilted to the side, as though listening to something the rest of them could not hear – and then, in a motion as smooth as the one he had used to snatch the fish, he whirled, twisting to his full height even as his arm swung back, and hurled his limp captive off into the forest.

Frodo did not see where it landed once it disappeared between the trees – but in the next second he heard a loud wet slap, followed by an affronted yelp. Legolas stood gazing off into the trees for another moment, and then he gave a mocking little bow and called out something in the wood-elf dialect. As before, Frodo could not quite make it out, but from what he could piece together he would have guessed it to be something along the lines of, “The show is ended.“

Then he turned back to them, smoothing a pleasant smile back over his features with what looked like an effort. "Forgive me,” he said. "I suppose we will have to catch another.“

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

“Beregond.”

Beregond did not move at Esta’s summons, but merely continued to gaze ahead with a thoughtful frown. Esta raised his eyebrows at Attea, who shrugged back. Beregond certainly had enough on his mind, especially now, and could be forgiven such a lapse - but still, it was unlike him to linger so in his thoughts amidst a mission so important as examining the battlefields so close to Mordor. Particularly not when Faramir himself had assigned them the mission, even if he could not accompany them.

“Beregond,” repeated Esta, and his companion shook himself.

“Forgive me,” he said at last. “I was merely intrigued by - do you not also notice that unusual stench?”

Esta and Attea exchanged another look, more concerned than the first. Perhaps there truly was something wrong. “The scent of a battlefield is never pleasant,” said Attea carefully. Beregond should have known that better than any of them. “Do you …”

“No, no,” Beregond shook his head. “This is different. Perhaps I am merely imagining it, but I thought …”

“No.” Esta stopped still as well, for at last the scent had reached him, and he understood. It was as curious as Beregond had said. There was the usual battlefield reek, yes: blood and smoke, viscera and carrion birds … but there was another scent, too, lying heavy and oily beneath it all - and utterly mystifying, for Esta had never smelled it before so far from the shore.

It was the smell of rotting fish.


End file.
